


pregame: tarot (and astrology)

by hecleretical



Series: pregame [3]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Astrology, Baltimore Crabs (Blaseball Team), Gen, Tarot Cards, Team Bonding, all errors in fortune telling are my own, images taken DIRECTLY before a disaster, silvaire's just a kid, this is a real chart i drew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26990545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecleretical/pseuds/hecleretical
Summary: "The moon rules Cancer," Silvaire says. "I c'n see that.""Sure. It also has to do with inconsistency, and illusion, which I think fits our record pretty well." He pauses. "Also, there's a lobster on the card."or, kennedy loser tries to reassure the new kid.
Relationships: Kennedy Loser & Silvaire Roadhouse, past/mentioned Sutton Dreamy & Tillman Henderson
Series: pregame [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968154
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	pregame: tarot (and astrology)

Kennedy Loser likes to be first. Compensation for the last name. First at the obvious things, of course, when he can be-- first in on base percentage, first in win to loss record, things like that-- but first in less obvious things too. First to welcome a rookie to the Crabitat. First to stop drinking on a night out. First to make a bad joke to lighten the mood when things get too tense. But especially, Kennedy Loser likes to be first in the locker room before a game. 

Not obsessively. Not to the point where he'd describe it as his pregame ritual-- his actual pregame ritual is in a box tucked away in his pocket. But it's quiet, and he is the team's captain, got to set a good example, and it's certainly easier to do a reading without everyone else around.

He gets there particularly early on Day 116. Which is why he's surprised when the lights are already on.

Peering in cautiously, he sees a locker door open, and a skinny kid in a rumpled uniform sitting on the floor, surrounded by books and papers. Wavy, chin-length dark hair they have to push out of their face-- it's Silvaire, he realizes, Roadhouse, the new rookie.

He's not quiet coming in, not more than usual, but she doesn't seem to notice him; just mutters under her breath and runs her finger down the column of a chart. She's drawing on some kind of wheel, in front of her, with a lot of symbols he doesn't recognize. He leans on the locker door next to her, clears his throat.

"Listen ma'am I'm sorry if--" she looks up, startles. "Oh. I thought you was Dreamy."

Dreamy has this locker, the one next to her, he remembers. "Nope, just me." And then, "Why apologize?"

"I--" Roadhouse flushes a little, under her tan. She seems so confident on the field, so intense, but now she's hesitant. "I think...I might've offended her."

He sits down on the bench in front of her. "What do you think you did?"

"Really, mister, I dunno. It's just...I don't think she likes me. I keep tryin' to say hi--"

He frowns. It's not like Sutton to be cold or mean, especially not to a rookie. She can be, well, dreamy, sure, but... "Has she been giving you trouble?"

"No! Not at all. And it's not like she's ignorin' me. It's just..." She trails off. "It's like she's lookin' through me. Never saying anything. Just stares straight past me."

"Oh." He thinks he knows. "You, uh, have Henderson's locker." And his spot in the lineup, and his position at shortstop.

"The guy who was here before me?"

"Yeah. They were pretty close."

Roadhouse deflates a little. "Well...can't exactly help that, can I?"

"Don't worry about it. Sutton's nice, she'll warm up to you. She might just need a little time." He gets out his card box, opens it up, starts shuffling the deck. Loser likes to shuffle tarot cards for a good while, before he draws.

A silence falls over them. She looks back down at her sheets.

"So, uh..." he tries. "What're you up to?"

"Oh. Astrology. My grandpa taught me, and, well, they told me I needed somethin' lucky to do before games. Just drawin' a chart, for tonight."

"What does it say?"

That doesn't seem to help. She furrows her brow, pushes some hair out of her face. "I don't know," she admits.

"Stars not being clear?"

"Not at all!" A floodgate seems to open. "First off, we're the Crabs, right? The moon, or Cancer, that's what I'd expect-- but the Ascendant's in Gemini-- that should be us, but it reminds me more of the Shoe Thieves. Our signifying planet's Mercury in Scorpio, in the sixth house, so it's in its own place, but it's opposing Uranus--"

He doesn't get any of this. "Mhm."

"And I'm real worried about this eighth house. It's Capricorn, which means discipline and lessons, and the eighth is about sudden upheavals and transformations, sometimes violent...and see?"

She thrusts the wheel chart in his direction.

"Here's Jupiter, Pluto, and Saturn all sort of loosely conjunct, and squaring the sun and Mars, and opposing the Moon which even if we're not a Cancer Ascending always sort of signifies the Querant."

"Okay."

"Jupiter is also the signifactor of the Descendant, which is open enemies. And Uranus is in the twelfth house-- sudden changes and reverses in the House of Reckoning."

"Of Reckoning?" That doesn't sound great.

"Yeah. It's got to do with hidden enemies, and bondage, places like prisons and jails."

"So..." He considers this. "Do you think we're going to lose?"

"I dunno," she admits. "But I can't find a lot of good stuff in this chart. And I can find some pretty bad stuff. I think...maybe somethin' bad for both of us? But that doesn't make any sense."

"It is the Championship. One team has to win, that's kind of the point."

"Yeah..."

Kennedy Loser isn't the best team captain, he's not that proud of himself, but even he can tell when his teammates need confidence. "Tell you what," he says. "Let's ask the cards. Want to see me do a reading?"

"Sure. This is your-- thing, before a game?"

"Sure is. And I'm pretty good at it, I think. Or at least the cards aren't usually wrong." That's part of the reason he likes to do these readings alone-- no use in the getting the team worked up, if the cards come up bad. But Roadhouse needs something to get her out of her head.

Loser cuts the deck, begins laying out the cards.

"I made this spread up myself," he says. "It's a blaseball diamond. Pretty appropriate before a game, right?"

Silvaire comes and sits down on the other end of the bench, facing him. Eight cards are spread out between them, faces down.

"So first," he says, "We have home plate. Your starting point, but also your objective-- the thing you want to return back to."

"What's the card all crosswise on top of it?"

"The team? Sort of...us, where we're at. Like having a batter up to the plate." Loser turns them both over. "The Wheel of Fortune, reversed, and crossed by the Moon."

"'N what does that mean?"

"I'm getting there," he says-- calmly, not offended. He's used to questions, when he draws for other people on the team.

"So. The Wheel of Fortune. Destiny, success, Lady Luck I guess. Reversed here, so it's kind of hanging in the balance, maybe hasn't been what we'd expect." A reverse sweep, he thinks, cold in the pit of his stomach; but that's a bit too on the nose, and he doesn't certainly doesn't want to say it out loud. "The batter at the plate is the Moon, which is usually what I draw for the Crabs. That makes sense."

"The moon rules Cancer," Silvaire says. "I c'n see that."

"Sure. It also has to do with inconsistency, and illusion, which I think fits our record pretty well." He pauses. "Also, there's a lobster on the card."

He looks up quickly enough to be rewarded with a grin.

"Next, we've got the pitching mount. Sort of the face of whatever's our obstacle." He turns it over. "Okay, the Fool. That seems pretty straightforwardly the Shoe Thieves. Jaunty, carefree--"

"Has fancy kicks--"

"Yup. See, you're learning. First base is next. This is what we need-- to reach, maybe, or else to overcome. It depends."

It's the Emperor, reversed. Loser frowns.

"Discipline," he sighs. "This one always comes up when they talk about discipline." The Gods have control issues, he's learned this much by now, and they've certainly got the power to enforce them. Not that he knows what that means, in this spread. We are, he supposes, in the Discipline Era.

"Does that mean we gotta get discipline, or get over it?"

Good question. He isn't sure.

"Second base is another 'it depends' kind of thing-- it could be risk, or danger-- because it's the farthest you are from home plate, right? But sometimes when I do this it's more like an ally or a resource, like there's a runner on second. This one is...the Eight of Swords. Confinement? Bound people? Somebody in a bind, like the person on the card." He always uses the Rider-Waite before a championship game, it's just his habit, but the familiar image looking back at him seems just as confusing as when he'd first started tarot.

"So...what does that signify?"

"Great question," he mutters.

Third base, at least, is straightforward enough: the Six of Wands. "What we want," he says. "What we're hoping for. In this case-- victory. Wands always feel lucky for blaseball, because they look like bats."

"Next, we have the outfield. This one's more abstract, sort of, the environment, or things that could trip you up."

He flips it over.

"Death...ain't a good thing, right?"

"Well, not necessarily. That's a pretty common misconception. Death just means change. It could be destruction, or it could be the end of an era, or something more positive."

She looks uneasy. "You're the expert, mister."

"Last card. This one's the umpires: hidden enemies, obviously, or dangers, some influence you can't see."

Kennedy Loser finds this the most worrying of anything in the spread. It's Judgement.

At that exact moment there are voices in the hall, and Tot, who's usually second in the locker room, barrels in with a cap in his mouth and Parker chasing after him.

He goes to stand up and deal with them. Silvaire grabs his hand.

"So-- sorry, Mister Loser, but what's the verdict? Do you think we're gonna win?"

"Sure," he lies. "I think they're saying it's going to be hard game, but nothing we can't handle." And reassured, she slips away to go clear her astrology books off the floor, before Tot tramples them.

But it nags at him. Guilt in his stomach, and also unease. Judgement is a card he doesn't see much, hasn't seen before a game, in fact. A change of position, a divine sentence. Something impossible to avoid.

It's hard not to think of Ascension-- nobody knows yet what it means. He'd assumed something good, but now...Loser pushes the thought out of his mind. It has to be good. This is what they've worked for. He has teammates to inspire now, players to get ready, a reverse sweep they've got to prevent. He sorts out the thing with the cap, cleans dirt off the lens of Luis's projector, laughs at one of Parker's bad jokes. Pats Tosser on the shoulder-- he's going to pitch this one. They're counting on him. Gives a quiet nod to Forrest and Pedro, two of the old guard, like him, from back when the Crabs were bad, about to see their third championship. Messes up Sutton's hair. Hugs Nagomi.

Kennedy Loser likes to be first, so he's usually first on the field. Not obsessively, again, but it's a little odd for him to hang back at his locker, waiting until no one's around to pull one last card from his deck. Just to clarify. What'd that mean? Judgement and what else?

He doesn't get a helpful answer. Not until hindsight.

"Now you're just being dramatic," he says to his deck, tucks the Tower back in, puts his cap on straight, and goes out onto the field.

**Author's Note:**

> with thanks to hard shell, zuki, and crabmoney in the crabitat discord for helping me with the tarot! the blaseball spread was zuki's invention and it is very cool.


End file.
